The Stockholm Contingency
by TheGirlin14G
Summary: Her relationship with Jackson was not what psychologists called Stockholm Syndrome. That term was far too clinical. Too definitive. It was more like a Stockholm Contingency.
1. Prologue

The sirens were so close now, they rang in her ears. Lisa stood, numb, above the prone figure of Jackson Rippner. The man who'd nearly ruined her life.

But it was over now. Her father was safe. The Keefes were safe...

"Lisa?"

Her father behind her, concerned.

And yet, she couldn't tear her gaze away from the body on the floor. Was he dead? Did she even care?

Oh good. The police were here. The paramedics were here. Was it normal to send every emergency squad for a 911 intruder call? Oh, well... No fire trucks... She didn't care. She ached. Her father was probably hurting, too. She had to talk to the police. She had to tell them everything. The plane, the chase, the phone calls, the Keefes...

It was over.

She had to get to the hotel. She had to make sure everything was okay there. Oh, there were going to be mountains of paperwork... The car she stole, the man she hit...

"Miss, we need you to get checked out by paramedics outside, and then we need to get statements from you and... your father?" It was a question, and Lisa nodded.

"Yes, he's my dad." God, she sounded like a little kid even to her own ears.

Two of the paramedics were loading Jackson onto a stretcher. She would never have to see him again. Never have to endure the stare of those haunting eyes... Thank god.

It was over.

Lisa and Joe Reisert stumbled outside to find the ambulance. He kept waving them away, assuring them he felt fine; it was her he was worried about. Lisa smiled wearily and let them check her head, her eyes - no, she didn't feel sleepy. No concussion here. No, nothing broken. She could walk, talk... More than could be said for Jackson.

She watched as they loaded his unconscious form onto the ambulance. She caught one last glimpse of his dark hair - she'd thought he looked like a Beatle when he first spoke to her in the check-in line - a flutter of the burgundy scarf... And then the driver shut the bay doors and turned to flash Lisa a reassuring smile as he headed for the cab of the boxy vehicle.

It was over.


	2. Recovery

Jackson Rippner slowly opened his eyes. The windowless room he'd been confined to gave no hint as to where he was. Or what time it was. Or better yet, what _day_ it was. He stared up at the sterile ceiling, eyes coming to focus on nothing in particular.

How long had it been since he'd failed that last mission? The word made his head hurt. Failure. He never failed. If it hadn't been for Lisa Reisert... He thought back to that day. It was always the first thing he thought about when he regained consciousness. Though he usually slipped back into a fitful sleep even as his mind began to replay that day's events.

He'd had it. The end had been so close... And it had slipped through his fingers. Had she not grabbed that pen... Oh, that _fucking_ pen...

Then the chase through the airport, following back to her father's house... Chasing, hiding, fighting... Stabbed with a high-heel, shot with his associate's gun... All because of that fucking pen.

Out of the corner of his eye, movement. He turned his head, only to see Margo Fisher, daughter of one Martin Fisher, a.k.a. upper management. Her father was on his way to retirement, and Margo, in her power-hungry claw to the top, ruthlessly exploited her position as the boss's daughter. Luckily for him, Fisher senior thought very highly of his work. He just hoped this last assignment hadn't changed all that. He would have groaned, had Margo not been within earshot.

Christ, what was she doing here?

Well, he supposed it was a good sign. It meant that 1) he hadn't been arrested, and 2) he hadn't been killed. Though he wondered if that was indeed a good thing, when a man like her father was calling the shots.

"How long has it been?"

His voice was raspy. Unused. That fucking pen...

"You were out of commission for about a week after they got you back here. Since then, you've been in and out... It's been almost two months since the incident."

"Two months?"

She watched him through narrowed eyes. "The doctors say you'll be able to speak normally once your vocal cords have healed up a bit - "

"And how long - ?" It hurt to talk.

"I didn't ask. I really wasn't at all concerned about your condition."

How sweet. At least she was honest.

"How did - ?"

"It's standard company procedure to listen to all police frequencies as an assignment's being carried out." He really wished she'd stop interrupting him. "Though, really, you've never _failed_ before, so I guess you wouldn't know how this works." Her voice positively dripped with disdain. He wanted to assure her that the feeling was mutual.

"When you so stupidly lost track of the girl, then _followed_ her back to her father's home, we heard the calls over the police scanner. From there, it was easy enough to send in our own paramedics to retrieve you and get you back. There was enough chaos downtown, that by the time they realized you weren't in custody, you'd already been back with us for eight hours. Not including the time it took to get you here." She spoke slowly and deliberately, as if he was a child she'd explained this to already.

He took it all in, trying to remember the events of that day. After the plane, the airport, the fucking pen... Absentmindedly, he reached up and touched his throat. He couldn't remember anything after being shot by Joe Reisert. No. Wait... Lisa. He tried to growl at the memory, but it sounded more like a gurgle. Yes, she'd moved toward him, stood above him as things went black... She probably had been hoping to watch him take his last breaths. It would have been easier for her if he had.

He was brought back to the present as Margo cleared her throat pointedly. He turned his head and watched as she crossed one long leg over the other, watching him steadily as her expression shifted through boredom, amusement, and barely restrained hatred. But she didn't say anything yet. She just wanted his attention. She wanted him to speak. The bitch.

She held two dossiers in her lap, was idly flipping the corners. Ah, so they already had a new assignment for him. This was good news. Well, he'd always known he was much too valuable to them. He smirked, pleased to know he still had a job. She caught his expression and her own soured immediately.

"What're the files?"

She ignored him and leaned back, regarding him through lowered lids. "She made you look like a fool, 'Jackson'." She spit out his last alias as if the name itself had offended her. "You know my father doesn't suffer fools - "

He turned to fix her with a frosty glare. "It's a wonder he keeps you around..."

Her eyes flashed and she straightened immediately. Jackson smirked inwardly. Not many could get away with insulting the boss's daughter, but he knew he was like the son Martin Fisher never had. He got away with a lot. Apparently that included fucking up an assignment like the Keefes.

"The file - ?" Christ, it hurt like hell to talk.

She ignored him and stood up. "You're lucky you've had a good track record so far. Father doesn't usually tolerate failure..." Ugh. What was it with him and women with daddy issues? He just wanted her to get it over with and leave.

"The file, Margo."

She looked down at him and smirked, her attitude shifting once more - as if he'd never frazzled her. "We compensated the client for money wasted on your last assignment, but they still aren't satisfied. They want heads to roll, 'Jackson'. They wanted their message to get across, and instead, they come off looking like incompetent fools." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "My father could care less. It was a clumsy job at best, but he'd thought just maybe, you could pull something smooth off with so little to go on." She arched a brow, that damn smirk returning. "Of course, that didn't happen, did it?"

He nearly sighed in annoyance. So his next assignment was a rehash of the last one? He had to arrange another Keefe assassination? As delightful as it would be to pay dear Lisa Reisert another visit...

"No, he doesn't trust you to have another go at the Keefe assignment. We have someone else working on it." She sounded smug. He turned his head to look at her, careful to keep his face blank. The bitch sounded so pleased with herself... Pleased to hear about his failure. She always did enjoy pouring salt on the wounds. She had probably asked to be the one to brief him. Just so she could enjoy the fact he'd failed. The company's golden boy...

"You're to forget everything about the last assignment and move on to the next project. You're to go by the name Robby Packton..." Here he looked at her incredulously, and she sneered as she pulled out a clear plastic bag with a driver's license, credit card, social security number, and some cash. "Well, we let you pick your name last time, and you seemed to like the serial killer ice breaker... We thought maybe you'd have more luck this time around." He hated the new alias immediately. She regarded him, coolly amused, then continued. "There's a couple in New York he wants you to tail. Senior citizens." She handed him the first dossier and the plastic bag. "It's just an information-gathering job this time, so I would hope you can handle it, 'Robby'."

He was just supposed to tail a couple of geriatrics? That was grunt work. Fuck. So he wouldn't get out of this completely unscathed. He _was_ being punished. _Damn_ it. He glowered at the file she'd handed him.

"And Lisa - ?" Now, why the hell did he let that slip out? Was he still drugged up? Damn, he loathed himself for letting himself ask about her.

"Who?" She raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the chair, crossing her legs once more.

He glared up at her murderously. She knew exactly who. He hated failure. She was making him admit his failure, and he hated her even more for it.

"I'm not sure I recall a 'Lisa'..."

"My last assignment."

She pretended to think another moment or so, then widened her eyes in false recognition. "Oh yes. That's the name of the girl from the plane... The one who single-handedly brought you down. Lisa. Lisa..." She glanced at the second file folder. "...Reed? Oh no, here it is. Reisert." She smirked and leaned forward, and again, Jackson wondered bitterly why'd he'd even brought it up. "She made you look like quite the fool, didn't she?" Her lip curled and she glanced to his throat. "Sound like one, too."

He narrowed his eyes spitefully. "I'm not through with her yet." It was the longest sentence he'd managed so far. And it hurt like hell to choke it out.

"Not through with her? The assignment's over, _Robby_. There'll be plenty of other girls out there for you to fuck."

He didn't even dignify her with a response this time. She knew he was a professional. He'd never fucked a mark in his life.

She sighed, resigned. He was an asshole, but she understood the desire for revenge. Unfortunately, it wasn't his problem any more. "She's not your mark any more, Robby. You have other things to think about, and my father won't be happy if you ignore this next mission after just failing the last one. He doesn't give just anyone a second chance." She stood, smoothed her skirt out and flipped through her file.

He looked at her steadily for a moment. Wait. Not his mark _any more_? Surely they weren't planning to go after Lisa again...

"Is someone else - ?"

"Forget about it, _Robby_."

"No... She's mine... I'm the one who fucked up. I'm the one who wants to get even - "

"And that's why it can't be you. You're too close to the situation. You'll let your emotions get the better of you, and you'll fuck it up again. The client wants to know the reason behind the botched job? We'll bring them her. And well..." She chuckled darkly. "If I was you, I'd forget about the girl and move on."

Hate her though he might, he knew her too well. That was her 'official' stance. The speech her father had prepared for her. He studied her, calculatingly. "And... _off_ the record...?" He put his fingers to his healing trachea to get the painful words out... "What would you do... if you were in my place?"

Margo eyed him for one long moment, fingers drumming against the manila folder in her hands. Then, slowly, she smirked and leaned in, green eyes flashing dangerously. "I would find her first."

----------

**Author's Notes:**  
Bon soir, all! Yet another Red Eye-aholic here. Don't worry, I am not at all a fan of Mary Sues (shudder!) and I know how original female characters tend to automatically get lumped into the Mary Sue category... But no. I needed a character to get the ball rolling. Women tend to be so much more underhanded and conniving than men, and so I picked female character over male character. That, and Margo's based on one of two Shakespearean characters that may be the most vicious female characters in literature. If you can guess who they are... well, I have nothing to offer but respect.

...Which reminds me:

Not mine. I can't even claim Margo, since she's based on another character. I'm poor and I love you, Wes. Please don't sue.


	3. Reversion

In the past two months, Lisa Reisert had done her best to return to normalcy. In the past two months, she'd returned to work, despite the fact they'd offered her a paid vacation. She didn't want a vacation. She'd had enough of planes for a long time.

She wanted to get her mind off that day. She wanted to forget it completely. A vacation wasn't going to be enough. So she buried herself in work, and when that failed, she and Cynthia went out for drinks, movies... As long as she kept herself busy, her thoughts didn't trail to that day. She didn't think about _him_.

Cynthia had become a close friend in the past two months. They'd been friends before, but that day's events seemed to draw them even closer. She was grateful. It felt good to have a close friend again.

Her father had suggested she see a psychiatrist. Just like she had after the rape. She'd declined. It hadn't really helped back then, and Cynthia was better than a shrink, and didn't charge for her time.

Try though she might, however, two months was not enough time to heal completely. But she had healed some. Lisa never felt sorry for herself. She didn't break down into tears at work. She didn't even break down into tears at home. She never let herself jump at an unfamiliar noise in the night. She was cautious, but that caution never crossed the line into paranoia.

Lisa told herself she really was fine. All she needed was a bit more time. For some reason, this situation had proved less traumatic than the rape two years ago.

Maybe it was easier because everyone had survived. Maybe it was because she'd fought back and won. But a small part of her wondered if the reason it had been easier was because of him.

It was absurd, the rational part of her mused. True, he was attractive, and when she'd first spoken with him, he'd been so charming… But of course, then he'd threatened to kill her father. He'd set up the attempted assassination on a whole _family_. He'd made her a pawn in his sick game. And after the flight, he'd tried to kill her. (Granted, had someone stabbed her in the neck with a pen like she'd done to him, she'd have wanted to slit a few throats too…) But he hadn't violated her. Physically, anyway. Mentally, he'd given her a mindfuck that was a lot harder to forget. What the hell was she thinking? It was one of the reasons she worked so hard to forget him. These conflicting thoughts drove her mad.

----------

A little over a week ago, her father had tried to help her by bringing her a puppy. Having a dog deterred intruders and other criminals, he'd said. She'd almost gone along with it, too. A dog might have been fun. She'd actually been interested, until he'd brought in the Siberian husky puppy.

Joe Reisert was beaming, looking down at the 6 month-old dog with something akin to pride as he scratched its ears.

"Aren't his eyes just the most unusual color you've ever – Lisa?"

Lisa's face had gone an unholy white, and she turned away. "Dad, I can't take him."

"Lisa, what's wrong?" Her father stepped toward her, the dog forgotten.

Lisa shook her head, giving her father a tight smile. "Nothing. No, it's nothing, Dad." She glanced briefly at the dog; it was watching her with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Well, almost. God… _His _eyes… Lisa shook her head, trying desperately to clear his face from her mind.

"Is it the dog?" Her father looked over his shoulder, following her line of sight. "What's wrong with the dog? We can get you another dog – "

"No… It's nothing, Dad, really." She thought fast. She had told her father she was over this. It wasn't a problem any more. How could she tell him that if she kept the dog, every time looked at it, all she'd be able to see would be _him_? "It's just… I mean, my job keeps me so busy… And my apartment isn't really that big. He'll be a big dog. I won't have room. I won't have the time… I – "

Her father nodded, skeptically. There was definitely something she wasn't sharing, but he wouldn't push the matter. Instead, he smiled and wrapped his arms around her. "All right. All right. It's no trouble. I'll just take the dog. I've been a bit lonely lately, anyway…" She looked at him, her brows knit slightly. "And besides, it means I can name him 'Spot' and not get any flak from you." Lisa laughed at that, though it sounded a bit strained. He smiled reassuringly down at her and kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "No, don't be. It was just…" She trailed off and shrugged her shoulders.

"Lisa…" He waited until she looked up at him before he continued. "If something is still bothering you, you know you can talk to me."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "I know Dad. But I'm okay. Really."

He hadn't pressed any more.

----------

The day after the incident, the police had informed her that Rippner was still at large. She had gone cold, her brain working a mile a minute. She didn't bother to ask them how an assassin who'd been shot twice, stabbed in the thigh with a shoe, and given a tracheotomy with a goddamned _pen_ had escaped. He was most likely long-gone.

_"We'll talk again…"_

The words sprang up, unbidden, in her mind. His voice… raspy from the injury she'd caused, threatening her even as the sirens bore down on them.

Would he come back?

The authorities seemed to think so. They had offered to relocate both her and her father, but they'd declined. What would be the point in that? He'd found her once; if he really wanted to find her again, he would. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd scared her enough to give up her home, her job… No. She would not give him that kind of control. She wasn't afraid of him any more.

Lisa shook her head, auburn curls bouncing against her face. Too much. She'd spent too much time thinking about him today, and she had to get to work. It was almost nine already, and she was supposed to be interviewing applicants for a recent vacancy at the front desk.

She grabbed the applications she'd received over the past few days, slipped on her sling-backs, picked up her keys and her purse on the front table, locked the door securely behind her, and headed for her car.

Since she had become more cautious since the incident, it would have been stupid for Lisa not to notice the black Lexus parked in the lot. It didn't matter that her apartment complex was gaited – she wouldn't let herself be lured into a false sense of security. She always noticed what cars were parked around her building. However, since there was no one in that black Lexus at the time, she didn't give it a second thought.

What she didn't notice was that the driver was still nearby, waiting for her to leave before he picked her lock and entered her apartment.

----------

**Author's Notes:**  
Thanks so much for all the reviews, guys. I'm so self-conscious about my writing, but knowing somebody out there likes it sure does help. Plus, it really does fuel the fire under my bum. :)

**SilentSister:** Good lord, you're right. His name _is_ Joe. How embarrassing. Freudian slip, I'm sure. Guess I need to see the movie again. What a shame. ;) Thanks! Should be fixed now. And thanks for both reviews! I really do love your story. If only I was so dedicated….

**Chanel86:** Thanks! OOC is my biggest fear, so don't hesitate to let me know if it happens. :)

**Claire:** Whew, I'm glad you don't think so. I figured better safe to disclaim first, just in case. Nah, she's not Mafia (though they are so fun). And she's based on either Regan or Goneril from "King Lear" – one of my favorite plays – take your pick; they're both sides of the same coin.

**Winged Seraph and Faith-Catherine:** Thanks! I sure hope I can stay up to par…


	4. Revisitation

The day had been an uneventful one. Lisa had interviewed all possible candidates, and had it narrowed down to two applicants. Both were well qualified, and their references had spoken highly of them. Now it was just a matter of narrowing it down to the one she felt would be right for the hotel, as well as who she thought would get along best with the rest of the lobby staff. The sun was just beginning to set, its final rays casting an eerie orange glow on the lobby as Lisa stood behind the front desk, studying both applications. It was quiet right now. Cynthia was in the middle of checking in a guest, when the phone rang, so Lisa took the call.

"Lux Atlantic, this is Lisa. How can I - ?"

"Lisa Reisert?"

Lisa frowned as the man on the line interrupted her. She didn't recognize the voice. "Yes? This is Lisa Reisert."

"Miss Reisert, this is lieutenant Stephen Riley of the Miami-Dade County Fire Department. I'm sorry to bother you, but there seems to be a situation at your apartment…"

Time seemed to slow. Lisa reached behind her, trying to grasp for a chair. She needed to sit down. Her apartment? God… Jackson…? Her legs shook slightly, and she turned to look for one of the chairs they kept behind the desk. It wasn't there. And Cynthia. Where had Cynthia gone? She was just here…

"M-my… My apartment?"

Where the _hell_ was that damn chair?

"Yes ma'am. It seems there was a gas leak in the apartment just below you, but we had to get into your apartment too. Just to make sure there was no similar problem up there… And to ventilate the place. Just in case, you know."

Oh thank God. Lisa sighed with obvious relief, her hand visibly shaking. She found a chair and wheeled it over, sinking into it immediately. A gas leak. That was all. He just wanted to let her know about a leak in her building. That was all it was. And she'd been so certain it was going to be so much more serious. She laughed softly, putting a hand to her forehead. She was supposed to be past the jumpy point.

"Ma'am?" he sounded concerned.

She shook her head, even if he couldn't see it. "I'm sorry. I've had a bit of a rough day." Completely untrue, but much less messy than the 'I was so afraid the assassin that threatened my life on this red-eye flight two months ago had come back and set fire to my apartment in attempt to get back at me for stabbing him in the throat and shooting him within an inch of his life' story. "Is everything okay there?"

"Yes ma'am. We have the situation completely under control. We're just packing up to leave now."

He said something else, but Lisa was still too busy chiding herself for jumping to the worst possible conclusion to catch what it was. "Listen, did you have any trouble getting inside? I just changed the locks, and I know that the top one's a bit tricky to – "

He interrupted her with a slight chuckle. "Oh no, ma'am. Like I said: your boyfriend let us right in."

----------

She didn't even get a chance to keep him on the line. She was completely frozen with terror.

_Jackson._

The fire lieutenant had already hung up.

Lisa couldn't do anything more than drop the phone, which by now was protesting harshly at being left off the hook for so long after the other party had hung up. He had been in her _home_. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw things. Thank God she was already sitting down.

"Lisa?"

Cynthia's worried voice cut into her thoughts.

"Lisa, oh my gosh. You're whiter than a sheet! What happened? Who was on the phone? Is everyone okay?"

Lisa stared out blankly into space. She had a decision to make. Tell Cynthia or no? Cynthia, who'd listened to every story in vivid detail about that flight… eventually. The stories had come eventually. It had taken Lisa weeks to open up to her friend. She wasn't sure she was ready to revisit the memories. But she couldn't lie to Cynthia.

"I think he came back, Cynthia. I think… I think he was in my apartment."

The redhead watched her silently a moment, before realization dawned. "Oh my gosh. That… Jackson? Oh my gosh, Lisa." She pulled up a chair, and Lisa was grateful there was a lull in lobby activity. "How do you know that? Are you sure?"

Was she sure? Who else could it have been? Who else would have had the ability to break into her apartment, and then the gall to open the door to the fire department, and tell them he was her _boyfriend_? That ballsy bastard. It had to be him.

"Yes…" She took a deep breath, and then relayed the conversation she'd had with the fire lieutenant.

"Oh my gosh. We have to call the police, Lisa. He might still be in the area. And you'll need to change your locks again, if he can get into your place now… Or better yet, we should see if you can move to a different apartment. He might still be around. But oh – let's call the police and they'll find him. Maybe you should stay with me for a few days…" Cynthia was going a mile a minute.

Lisa shook her head and held up a hand, still a bit numb. "I can't move in the next few hours, Cynthia. Let's just take this one step at a time."

"Right. The police."

Cynthia was already dialing as Lisa cleaned up the desk in front of her. She had to go to the apartment. She would have to talk to the police there, as well as make sure that nothing was out of place. God, what if he had taken something? She wasn't sure she could handle the psychological effects of knowing he had taken something of hers.

"Okay. The police will meet you at the apartment. They'll go in and check it out, and then take a statement from you, I guess…" Cynthia watched her friend worriedly, her doe-eyes wide with concern. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Lisa smiled and shook her head, grateful for Cynthia.

"No, I'll be okay with the police there. You need to stick around and make sure nothing blows up here." It had become a bit of a sick joke between the two of them, referencing the exploding suite. Despite the severity of that situation, no one had been hurt, and it had proved to create a strong bond between the two women. Of course, when they used that running gag, it usually didn't involve any of the other characters from that day…

Cynthia smiled tightly and took Lisa's hand. "Okay, Leese. You just call me if you need anything."

"I will. Thank you, Cynthia." Lisa already had her purse in hand and was heading for the elevator. For the past two months, the hotel had let her park in the garage spot nearest the elevator doors so she didn't have to cross a big lot to get to her car. So it was merely a matter of exiting the elevator and crossing the fifteen feet to get in her vehicle. She locked her doors and sank deep into the driver's seat before she started the engine. She couldn't quite put her finger on why she felt so nervous. The police would be there first. If he was there, they would find him and – oh, who was she kidding? They wouldn't catch him if he was there. He'd escaped them once before while being nearly _comatose_. Surely he'd be long gone by the time they arrived.

Of course, she'd thought that two months ago, too, and now he'd come back.

But she wondered, a twisted part of her piped up in the back of her mind, if what was really making her so shaky was the fact that police might have scared him off, and now she might not hear from him for another two months.

----------

By the time she got home, the police had scoured the apartment twice, and hadn't found any trace of an intruder.

They took down her statement, confirmed by Stephen Riley of the Miami-Dade Fire Department, and then let her search the apartment to see if anything was missing or out of place.

For the most part, nothing seemed to have been touched. She went through the kitchen, living room, the spare bedroom that also served as an unused office… Not a thing had been touched. But he _had_ been here. Riley had confirmed it. Tall, skinny guy, dark hair… blue eyes. It made her blood run cold to think he'd been here, in the place she felt most safe.

"Anything missing, ma'am?" the younger officer's voice was flat, hard to read. He probably thought she was crazy. But she wasn't crazy. He'd been here. She just had to check one more room.

"Not that I can tell so far…"

He didn't answer, and she continued on to her own bedroom. What had he done in here, she wondered. Had he gone through her closet? Lain down on her bed? She shivered and made a mental note to wash every single bed linen as soon as possible. Better yet, burn them. And buy a new mattress.

But the bed looked untouched, and Lisa let out a shuddering breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Nothing was different. Everything was in the pristine condition it had been in when she left this morning. She sighed and brushed the hair out of her face, then headed back to the main room of the apartment. The two police officers looked up as she entered, and she smiled sheepishly. "Everything's here."

The older officer smiled at her, and she was reminded briefly of her father. She should call him. "We'll keep an officer posted outside the building tonight, just to make sure, but we recommend, given the circumstances, that you stay elsewhere tonight. Do you have a friend you can stay with, or a hotel…?"

Lisa nodded absently, thinking back on Cynthia's earlier offer. She definitely did not want to stay in some lonely hotel room by herself, Lux Atlantic though it might be. And she did love her father, but she couldn't imagine staying there either. Too many memories of that day still lingered there… "Yeah. I do."

The younger man nodded curtly and headed for the door, while the older officer stayed back a moment. "If you'd like, we can stick around while you pack some things and then escort you to wherever you decide to stay."

Lisa smiled, genuinely. "Thank you, officer. It's very kind of you to offer, but I think I'll be okay."

"Well, if you're sure…"

She smiled again, once more reminded of her father. "I am. Thank you." He nodded and touched his hat as he left, and her smile broadened slightly at the gesture.

She was sure she'd be okay. Some guttural instinct told her that she was safe. No one was here now. And all she had to do was pack a few things and hop right back into her car. It would be another three hours or so before Cynthia got off work, so she could go back and work until Cynthia was done. That way she could get her mind off of things. And besides, a few overtime hours wouldn't hurt her bank account… Decision made, Lisa headed back into her bedroom to pack an overnight bag.

She had everything packed except for something to sleep in within the course of fifteen minutes. Her favorite oversized t-shirt wasn't in her closet or her bathroom, but that wasn't completely unusual. It was one of the things she deposited just about anywhere as she hurried to get ready for work. Lisa set about searching the room for it. Not on the floor, or that chair… Maybe she'd stuffed it under a pillow? She did that sometimes. An old childhood habit that was hard to break. Lisa lifted first one, then the other pillow on her bed –

- And gasped in horror.

There, on the mattress under her pillow, was the silk burgundy scarf.

Lisa dropped the pillow as if it had burned her, stumbling back away from the bed and diving to the side of it to grasp the field hockey stick she'd brought home with her from her father's house. He wasn't here, she was sure of it, but she brandished the stick like a weapon nonetheless.

Oh my god, oh my god… No… 

She inched forward in a semi-crouch, every muscle tensed as she moved to get a better look at the offending item.

There was no mistaking it. A long, thin slip of silk burgundy fabric, stolen right off the neck of the blonde woman on the plane, who'd provided a much-needed (albeit useless) distraction as she'd tried to leave a message for the elderly woman in the Dr. Phil book. He'd used it to cover the wound she'd given him… And this was the genuine article, she thought as she prodded it with the stick. She had no doubt of it. There were bloodstains all over the scarf; long-dried, but still there.

Lisa couldn't help herself. She set the stick down and reached forward to pick up the scarf. She stared at it a long moment in her hands, studying the stains, feeling the soft fabric. That twisted part of her piped up again, daring her to smell it – would it still smell like him?

She stuffed the scarf hastily into her duffle, zipped it up, grabbed the field hockey stick, and made a near-dash for her door. She had to get out of here. Get to the hotel. She could reorganize her thoughts there, where she wouldn't have to worry about whether or not he was lurking behind her bedroom door.

She couldn't stop herself from thinking about him the whole way there.

----------

**Author's Notes:**

I had no idea I had blocked anonymous reviews! I'm sorry. Jeeze, I'm such a blonde sometimes. Anyway, you guys are the best. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews.

**Silentsister:** Well, I hadn't said anything about it, but I do love me a Lisa/Jackson pairing… I just don't see it as a "love at first sight" situation. Which, luckily, most fans realize, too. There are definitely a lot of issues between them, but I do have a plan for the direction of this story (never write without one!), and it has a lot to do with the syndrome I took the title from. ;)

**Chanel86:** I don't give anything away in my notes, I'm sorry. ;) But thank you, and thank you for telling me about the review thing, or I never would have known.

Also, big thanks to **Winged Seraph, Asanji, blueyedtears, Alixa Lightz, and Faith Catherine**!


	5. Reaction

"Why, in the name of Christ and all that is fucking _holy_ did you go back to her apartment?"

Jackson had been sitting on the makeshift hospital bed, buttoning one of his sleeve cuffs, when Margo burst into the room, spewing curses and snarling at him like some caged animal.

He calmly raised an eyebrow, curious as to what the hell was going on here. "I beg your pardon?" His voice sounded better these days. Steadier. It had lost the rasp, and even if it was still a bit strained, it didn't hurt to talk any more. He felt more like himself than he had in a long time.

She whirled on him, eyes spitting fire. He briefly wondered if it would be worth joining back up with the Mafia when her father retired. She clenched her fists and her angular face turned an alarming shade of fuscia. "Don't you _dare_ play stupid with me. I'll have you skinned so fast, you'll still be wondering how it got so drafty in here while I admire my new coat in the mirror." He decided it might be worth it to look into Mafia work. She wasn't making a whit of sense.

"Margo? You're going to have to fill me in a bit here. Because unless you've walked into the wrong room, I have no idea what you're talking about. So why don't you take a deep breath, get those thoughts formed into a coherent idea, and explain to me what the hell it is you're ranting about."

The fury didn't leave her eyes, but when Margo spoke again, it was more controlled. "Lisa Reisert. Her apartment was broken into last week. She told the cops it was you. A fucking _fireman_ said he saw you. She found that fucking scarf at the scene." She narrowed her eyes. "Off the record, I gave you free-rein to do whatever the hell you'd planned for her in that fucked-up little brain of yours. But I didn't think you'd be so stupid as to – "

"It wasn't me."

She paused, speechless for once. "Don't lie to me – "

"You know I don't lie."

She narrowed her eyes again, as if debating whether or not she believed that. "I thought you'd left for your assignment…"

"I left to _prepare_ for my assignment. I came back to get a final check-over."

She seemed grudgingly satisfied with that response. "Well, if it wasn't you at her apartment, the client must have had our guy leave the scarf for some reason."

He thought about it. That made some sense. He'd certainly inflicted his fair share of psychological harm on the girl.

She went on before he could continue that train of thought. "Funny thing is… The fire department of Miami confirmed there was a man at her place…" He looked up, and Margo filed away the look that flashed across his face. What had that been? Anger? Jealousy? Surely not… She continued as if nothing had happened, "And the description we have in the police report is '5'7"-5'11", slim build, dark hair, blue eyes.' That sure as hell sounds like you to me – "

"I told you it wasn't me." This conversation was quickly becoming irritatingly tedious.

"Shut up and let me finish, 'Jackson'." They both went silent, staring each other down, ice blue eyes boring into emerald. She was the one to break the link first. His eyes were always much too intense for anyone's liking… "What I was going to say is, that sounds like you, but the guy we sent the client for this case looks nothing like you."

Jackson bit back a sarcastic remark. "So he brought in another guy. That's not unusual." He couldn't help but add coolly, scathingly, "They must've had you sitting on the sidelines too long for you to have forgotten that."

Her nostrils flared, the fury returning. Jackson smirked. This is why her father never let her run any field operations. Not because he was concerned for her safety; she was just too damn emotional. Women. He could almost see her counting to ten as she tried to calm herself once more.

"Yes, he might have brought in another guy to plant the scarf. But my point is this: The guy we sent the client doesn't know who you are. He's never seen you work. He had no knowledge of your injuries, or the goddamn scarf, for that matter."

"Someone must have told him."

"Who?" He wanted to roll his eyes. God damn it, but she really could be a stupid cow.

"Anyone he wanted to get information from on Reisert and the prior assignment. The doctors, the cops, the medics…" He narrowed his eyes up at her, "You…"

Margo narrowed her eyes right back. "And why the hell would I implicate you?"

He let the smirk slip back into place. "I was just naming names, Margo. I didn't say you were the one responsible."

She snarled and turned on her heel, heading for the door. Throwing it open, she turned back to glare murderously at him. "Our doctors gave you a clean bill of health, did they not?"

"Yes."

"So get out. You have an assignment to complete. Try not to fuck it up this time."

She was gone before he could respond, which said much more about the hastiness of her retreat than the speed of his retorts. The side of his mouth twitched slightly as he smirked again.

The scarf incident really didn't bother him. Not in the sense that he should be worried about the authorities. It would make getting back to Lisa slightly more challenging, but it would be nothing he couldn't handle. In fact, he'd enjoy the challenge quite a bit. No. The scarf incident actually served his purposes. He was disappointed he couldn't have left it there himself, naturally, but it meant she would already have him back on her mind when he did return. And having the psychological advantage… Yes, this situation would serve his purposes quite nicely.

He just had to make sure he got to her before they did.

----------

The next day, Jackson had his bag packed, and was experiencing a strong feeling of déjà vu as he waited for one of the women at the check-in counter to beckon him over. Ah, there.

"Hello, sir, how are you today?"

He smiled disarmingly at the blonde behind the counter, glancing to her nametag before responding. "I'm doing very well, Laura. So kind of you to ask." She returned his smile, a bit too widely, shyly flicking her eyes back to the monitor in front of her. How quaint.

"Sir, if I could please just have your name, an ID, and destination?"

He pulled out a wallet from his pocket, the letters "J" and "R" embossed on the dark leather in bold silver.

"Jackson Rippner. Miami."

----------

**Author's Notes:**

Um… Nothing to say here. Just hope you guys are still enjoying it. :)


	6. Recollection

Another month had passed since the intruder in her apartment. Lisa still fervently believed Jackson was keeping his soul-penetrating eyes on her. For some reason, over these past few days, she could hear his voice in her head, stronger than before.

_"When we get out of this, I may have to steal you."_

In any other context, it could have been some cheesy pick-up line. But of course, it hadn't been any other context. It had been 30,000 feet above the earth, with nowhere to get away, and no one – not a single one of the other passengers – had known what she'd been going through.

There were other things he'd said to her, too. Phrases she could recall as clearly as if he'd etched them on her mind.

She tried so hard to purge her thoughts of him.

She had shacked up with Cynthia for the better part of a week before she felt comfortable enough to return home. She'd changed the locks again, gotten a security system (which she should have done months ago, she scolded herself), and slept with her field hockey stick. When she could actually sleep, that was.

She'd dived back into her work with gusto, hiring a young man to fill the vacancy she'd had at the front desk. And she certainly wasn't disappointed in his work. But more than that, the new employee, Michael "Mike" Davis, had proved she had an eye for more than just references and ability. Mike was handsome, congenial, thoughtful… And as of recently, he seemed to have a thing for Cynthia.

Of course, the feeling definitely seemed to be mutual. Cynthia had taken one look at him and had whispered breathlessly to her when Mike had shown up for his first day of work, "Oh my gosh, you sure do know how to pick them, Leese."

_"Thanks for the quickie."_

Oh yeah, she sure knew how to pick them all right, she thought bitterly.

It was cute though, she thought as she watched Cynthia and Mike flirt back and forth. They both seemed so infatuated with the other, but neither had yet come around to just asking to see the other outside of work.

_"That's why God created the Tex Mex… Save you a seat?"_

The charm had come so easily to Jackson Rippner. And for a short time – the amount of time she'd known him before things had taken a turn for the insane – Lisa had enjoyed flirting again. He'd been the first man to get that kind of reaction out of her in two years. And it had felt so good. It felt like healing. Had he kept up the act, she might have been girlishly doodling "Mrs. Lisa Rippner" on a paper napkin in one of the many Starbucks that graced the Miami airport. But that was all it had been: an act. Now she couldn't believe that as she'd first taken her seat next to him on that plane (dumbfounded by her good luck), she'd been trying to come up with a slick way to ask him out for coffee after they landed in Miami. Maybe even slip in a sly innuendo about breakfast…

As it turned out, she didn't have to think up a way to invite him for coffee. He'd suggested the idea himself, later. Right after he'd used her as an accessory to attempted murder.

"Hey, Leese, a couple of us are going out for drinks tonight after work. You want to come?" Cynthia's warm voice broke her reverie.

"Hmm? Oh, I don't know, Cynthia…"

"Oh come on. It'll be fun. Mike's already offered to be our DD." Cynthia was looking at her with her best 'oh please, please get out of your apartment and do something fun for once' face. It couldn't hurt, Lisa mused. She hadn't gotten drunk off her ass in a very long time, and well, she didn't plan to tonight, but one drink, maybe two, couldn't hurt.

"All right, I'll come. Who else is going?"

"Well, me. And… um…" Cynthia hesitated, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Um, Mike…"

Lisa sighed. "So basically, I'll be tagging along on a date?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Cynthia's big brown eyes went even bigger; she looked stung by the question.

"Cynthia, I'm sorry. I've just been stretched a little thin lately…"

"No, it's okay, Lisa." She looked at the floor. "I like him a lot, but this is a girls' night out. I just figured we'd need a driver, and Mike overheard me – "

"Mike overheard you? Talking to whom?"

"Talking to… Mike…"

Lisa smiled despite herself.

"Oh Lisa, the point is: he was sweet enough to offer, so I took him up on it."

Lisa sighed again. Caving, she looking back over her shoulder to the clock on the wall. It was nearly eight pm, and time for her shift to end. "All right. What time?"

Cynthia looked elated. "Ten. Oh, I'm so glad you'll be coming, Leese. I've been worried about you, you know…"

Lisa patiently held up a hand. She knew right where this conversation was about to go. And after she'd just gotten her mind off of him, too. Damn it.

She couldn't help but wonder if he was here now, watching her from some dark corner. Absentmindedly, she glanced over her other shoulder, then back to Cynthia, who was watching her worriedly.

"Lisa – "

"Don't, Cynthia. Please."

"You know I'll listen to whatever you want to talk about."

"Yes." It came out more clipped than she meant it to be. Once again, Cynthia looked like a puppy that had been kicked. "Cynthia, I'm sorry. It's just…" She couldn't help but glance around again. "I can't get him out of my head these days."

Cynthia opened her mouth to respond, but Lisa caught sight of Mike heading their way and shook her head. "Listen, I promise we can talk about this tonight over drinks if we get a chance." Cynthia gave her an encouraging little smile, and Lisa returned it. "But right now, I'm going to head home, get a long hot shower, and get ready, okay?"

"Okay, Leese. We'll pick you up at ten." Cynthia gave her a quick hug and skittered off to talk to Mike, who seemed to be having trouble checking in a young French couple. Lisa smiled and went to grab her things from the office.

It really would do her some good to get out of the apartment, she thought.

_"I'm feeling… vodka… sweetened. A cosmo? … No, that would be too common."_

She could enjoy herself for a bit…

_"A screwdriver? No… too boring."_

Maybe there would be live music…

_"So that just leaves me with the pineapple …or the grapefruit."_

And, of course, there would be the drinks…

_"A Seabreeze."_

She had smiled, no need to feign amusement or surprise. He'd guessed it, spot-on. A part of her had leapt with hope. An attractive stranger, charming, sweet, and already knew just what she liked… She quashed those thoughts before they could follow the same path they'd taken that day. He was a murderer. Cold-blooded, Callous.

And then she'd ordered the baybreeze in an attempt to put some distance between them. The feelings she'd had for him, brought on so suddenly, had scared her.

Oh, if only she'd known then…

Lisa sighed and shut her eyes, shaking her head in annoyance. She had to stop dwelling on him. She was about to go out and have a good time with a couple of friends – something she hadn't done in a long time…

_"What turned you into such a loner, Leese? … Did someone break your heart?"_

You wish, you asshole. He'd seemed so gleeful when he'd asked her that. She'd shown him, though. She'd given him a beating enough to last a lifetime.

_There we go, Leese. Keep thinking **those** thoughts. About how you saved the day in the end. Good over evil and all that. You kicked his ass all right, and the bastard deserved everything he got._

It was exactly what she needed to hear. Exactly what she needed to keep telling herself.

So why did it sound like Jackson Rippner's voice in her head?

----------

**Author's Notes:**  
All right, I know. I'm sorry. This one's slow too. And a bit blah. But next chapter the action really picks up, I promise. Plus, I have good news (I hope).

At the moment, I'm working a much racier Lisa/Jackson one-shot fic (oh, let's call a spade a spade: it'll be a dirty little PWP), but I won't post it here due to rating. Instead, I'll probably put it on or the Jackson/Lisa Yahoo group… If anyone's interested in reading it, I'll let you know if I finish and post it. :)

Secondly: I'll try, but I may not get an update in tomorrow, due the fact I'll be traveling (sadly, not by plane. ;) ). But I'll try!

And for **Bimefl**: I actually intentionally had Jackson use that name. The police already believe he's in Miami, so they might not be checking incoming flight logs. But mostly, I thought it seemed very Jackson-ish to use the name he'd given Lisa – it's damn cocky, and I guess in a way, it gets him into 'character'. But you're so right: it's poetic license, and in the real world, he'd probably get his ass busted the moment he came out of that gate. I just figured no reader would enjoy that sudden of an end to the story. ;)


	7. Removed

Lisa was glad that Cynthia and Mike had decided on a bar that was classier and quieter than most.

She didn't really want to be out. She wanted to stay in and watch a movie. Hell, she was already getting a craving for scrambled eggs. But she was doing this for Cynthia. After all, she was "People-Pleaser 24/7".

Ugh.

She'd ordered something called a "Firefly", which the bartender had recommended after she'd told him she needed to find a substitute for her previous drink of choice: the Sea Breeze. So far it hadn't proved to be a suitable replacement. Neither had the "Melon Breeze" or the "Salty Dog" before that.

Lisa Reisert was slightly intoxicated.

"_I'm not normally such a lightweight…"_

Ha. That was downright laughable. With her tiny form and affinity for stronger drinks? She had _always_ been a lightweight.

She and Cynthia were sitting off at a side table, alone for the moment. Mike had made a run for the bathroom after trying Cynthia's especially nasty banana liquor based drink. Lisa laughed as Cynthia looked over with horror.

"I didn't think it was that bad!"

It actually wasn't so terrible, being out and about. Of course, the drinks helped. Mike had bought a round, and she'd paid for the other two. Mike was still paying for Cynthia's. She glanced over and arched a brow.

"So, now that he's run off, I have to know: what are you two doing?"

Cynthia tried to look innocent and failed, for what might have been the first time in her life. "What?"

"Cynthia!"

The younger girl shrugged. "I don't know. I like him, but it might get complicated."

Lisa nodded, not pressing any further. Hell, she knew all about complicated.

Cynthia seemed to guess where her thoughts were headed, and glanced around to see if Mike was on his way back. When she didn't see him anywhere nearby, she looked back to her friend. "Lisa… I don't want to pry, but did you want to talk?"

Lisa sighed, resting an elbow on the table and putting her hand to her forehead. It was so much easier to talk about things with the aid of alcohol… "Yeah, I did."

To her credit, Cynthia stayed silent, watching Lisa expectantly.

"I told you what happened when – well, that day. But…" She could feel herself going red. "But I never really told you how I felt. How he made me feel…"

Cynthia nodded. "Well, I could guess, Leese. I bet you were terrified."

Lisa held Cynthia's gaze a moment, as if considering exactly how to word her next statement without sounding crazy. "Yeah. I was. But before… Before I knew who – what – he was, I actually… liked him. A lot." She finished with a deep sigh. So there it was. There was her bomb. And Cynthia was actually looking at her as if she was expecting more.

"And…?"

"Cynthia, I was imagining asking him out. How could I have had those thoughts and then be so stupid as to – "

"Lisa. How could you have known?" Cynthia took Lisa's hand, her brows knit together in a concerned frown. "I saw pictures of him. On TV. After he'd… When they lost him. Any red-blooded woman would have done the same. He was handsome. And you told me how charming he was…" Cynthia sighed. "As far as I can tell, you met two Jacksons. At least you were attracted to the one you met first." She gave Lisa a little half-smile and squeezed her hand. "Don't worry about it."

Lisa looked away. Could she tell Cynthia that she still had those thoughts about him, even now?

Was it even possible to be attracted to someone she hated as much as she hated Jackson Rippner?

That question hung heavily above her head for the rest of the night.

----------

Last call was steadily approaching when Lisa and Cynthia decided to call it a night.

Lisa was very much looking forward to the prospect of going home and crawling into bed. She didn't have to work tomorrow, so the idea of sleeping in after a night of three very potent drinks was incredibly appealing.

Cynthia's apartment was closer to the bar, so Mike dropped her off first. Lisa nearly told him to stay and let her drive herself home, since he and Cynthia seemed to be having the most difficult time saying goodnight. Lisa did _not_ feel like dealing with _that_ tonight. But Mike finally managed to get out his goodbye, and they drove off in silence.

Lisa was glad for the quiet. It actually gave her time to – wait a second. "Mike… You needed to make a right back there to get to my apartment."

He stayed silent. Lisa tried again. "Back on Melbourne Avenue. We should have gone…" She trailed off when he only clenched his jaw in response. "Mike… What are you doing?" Her pulse began to race. What was going on? Where was he taking her? Suddenly those questions didn't matter. All that mattered was the fact that she had to get away.

Lisa lunged across the small space of the car and grabbed the steering wheel. Oh please, let there be a cop around to see the swerving. Let us crash. Not this. Not _again_.

"LISA!" Mike wrestled with her for control of the vehicle, but it wasn't enough, They swerved hard to the left, he overcorrected and they swerved back to the right, slamming hard into a telephone pole.

Chaos. The airbags had deployed. Lisa sucked in a breath through her teeth at the pain in her right arm. It was red and raw – must have been burned by the chemicals. There was glass everywhere from the shattered windshield. Groggily, she undid the seatbelt that now felt too tight across her chest. Her cheek stung, and she reached up a hand to make sure there were no shards lodged in her skin. There was blood on her fingers when she pulled her hand away, but no glass. Then all thoughts of pain disappeared, and the only thought in her mind was that she needed to escape, now.

She fought to open the passenger side door. Mike was groaning, coming around, though there was an open cut on his forehead that looked like it might require a few stitches. She turned away and threw open the car door with a groan, stumbling out and staggering forward as fast as her feet could take her. Thank God she'd chosen to wear flats tonight. She turned to risk a glance back over her shoulder. Mike had gotten his door open and had come around the back of the car, watching her, but not following. Feeling better about her chances, Lisa turned forward again – and slammed into the broad, rigid form of a man.

"Please help! There's a man, and he – "

The man she'd collided with ignored her. Instead, he grabbed her upper arms and spun her around so that her back was pressed tightly against his chest. He snarled to Mike: "This the one?"

Mike staggered forward, nodding, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve. "Yes."

Lisa was terrified. What was going on? How had this happened? She watched Mike with pleading eyes, but he never met her gaze. "Michael…"

"Where's my money?" Mike ignored her. He wasn't addressing the man who was being so rough with her. He was looking just beyond them.

Another man had stepped from the shadows, eyeing Lisa coldly, even as he spoke to Mike. "Here."

It was like something out of a bad movie. Lisa watched, horrified, as the younger man – whom she'd believed was her friend, who Cynthia had had such a crush on – traded her life for a small black briefcase.

She felt more than heard the man holding her chuckle, then turn to face the man who'd brought the money. He was tall, with gray, peppered hair, and he was watching her with a look Lisa didn't like at all. He smirked darkly, then met the eyes of the man who held her, nodding. "That's her. Let's go."

They were taking her in the direction of a nondescript, windowless van. Lisa opened her mouth to scream, only to have the rough man clamp his bear-like hand over her mouth. "Wouldn't do that, Love. Don't know who might hear…" He snickered again, then nodded to another man who'd climbed out of the back of the van, carrying a length of rope.

Lisa didn't let herself cry out when they tied her hands. She didn't let herself cry. Not now. They would not see her weak. She would get out of this. She'd escaped Jackson. She could escape these men too.

But this wasn't like the situation with Jackson on the plane. She imagined these men would have no problem killing her at any moment. Theirs was a different kind of evil. Jackson had held her captive with cunning threats and psychological warfare. He'd resorted to force only when he'd discovered the message in the bathroom. But these men… Brute force seemed to be all they knew.

Mike watched with horror as one of the men grabbed Lisa by the arm and wrenched her around, dragging her into the back of the van. "You said she wouldn't get hurt!"

The older man – the one who'd brought the money - raised an eyebrow. "And if she's good, she won't hurt for too much longer." He smirked and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The air surrounding him seemed to be thick with danger. "If you know what's good for you, you'll turn right around and skitter on home."

Lisa couldn't see from her position inside the van, but she could hear running footsteps, and then the older man turned to one of the other thugs: "Deal with it. Take him back to the wreck. Make sure there are no foul-ups"

"Yes sir."

"Plant these. Make sure it looks like a DUI. Trauma to the head and neck…"

"Yes sir."

"And get my money back."

More footsteps, and then the sound of a muffled cry from Mike. Then, silence. Lisa's breath caught, shaking, as she tried to listen for her captors. From what she could tell, there were five of them. A driver, the man who'd been sent after Mike, the rough man, the older man, and a fifth, who didn't really seem to be anything more than an extra set of hands.

Finally, the older man approached the back of the van. He watched her for a moment, then pulled a lighter from his pocket, lit up, and took a long drag on the cigarette.

"Such a pretty thing. No wonder he fucked it up."

"You have to wonder if he fucked with more than just the mission…" This from the man who'd dragged her into the van. There was dark chuckling from the others, and Lisa's breath caught in her throat. Oh God, no…

The older man took another drag on his cigarette and reached forward to brush her hair out of her face so he could see her features better. "No, boys, that's not his style." Footsteps outside. The other man must have returned… Lisa stared back defiantly at the older man. She was _not_ going to make this easy for them. He watched her for a minute, an almost amused look on his face. Then he pulled his hand back and looked beyond her to the rough man. "Let's go."

The two other thugs exited the van, but the rough man paused, kneeling down next to her. Who were these men? Had Jackson sent them to get her? Was Cynthia all right? What else did they have planned…? Lisa trembled at the thought of being at the mercy of these monsters. Her arms and wrists hurt from being tied so tightly behind her back. She was already reeling from being tossed around like a rag doll, and was in no position to prevent what happened next.

The rough man struck her hard, across the face, and the edges of her vision wavered, but didn't go black.

"Jackson…?" Her voice came out tiny and shaky – was it even she who was speaking?

He laughed cruelly and cupped a hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him in a gesture that mocked gentility.

"Rippner?" He laughed again, and her blood went cold. "Love, if Rippner knew what we were up to, you can bet your skinny little ass he wouldn't be on his way here." He watched her for a moment, thoughtfully, as if he was sizing her up. "Or maybe he would…"

He hit her again, and this time, everything went black.

----------

When she came to, she found that she was no longer tied up in the back of a windowless van.

Instead, she found herself stretched out on an old, worn sofa, staring into a pair of cold blue eyes she'd hoped never to see again.

"So glad you could join us, Leese."

----------

**Author's Notes:**  
I'm sorry for the long wait, guys. I hope it was worth it. This chapter was really hard for me to get out for some reason. I'm still not all that happy with it. I'm having more fun working on the other fic, so it seems to be sucking up most of my time. That, and reading all the other amazing Red Eye fics here. Seriously. I'm almost ashamed to keep going with mine because everybody else's are so good. But you all have been such lovely reviewers – thank you for all your kind words and encouragement. :)


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